


Weeds or Wildflowers

by Ilyen



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Genji is a Little Shit, M/M, McHanzo - Freeform, OC's - Freeform, adding more tags when i need to, established realationship au, hanzo deals with more guilt, mchanzo angst, mchanzo's been a thing for a few months in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:15:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilyen/pseuds/Ilyen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mission where Hanzo has to draw out Yakuza agents by pretending he's back to reclaim the Shimada empire. It goes as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for over 2 weeks now. I am sick of looking at it. It will also probably be edited, as I didn't wait for my beta reader to finish ;-;
> 
> au is mchanzo as an established (still on the dl though) relationship, just fyi.
> 
> also here's my tumblr: http://revolverwaffle.tumblr.com/
> 
> Enjoy!

McCree _lived_ for moments like this. The op was simple, the target was clearly in the wrong, and they were doing good- no questionable gray moral areas. No worry for civilians getting caught in the crossfire. Better yet, if everything went as planned, they'd be in and out before anyone noticed and he'd never have to pull the trigger. Simple, quick, clean. It makes him feel a little bit giddy, and he offers Hanzo a broad smile as they exit the elevator into the practically empty building.

Hanzo doesn't acknowledge him, his posture drawn and tight. Truth be told, the archer had every reason to be anxious. The whole months-long mission was hinged on Hanzo's actions. Though he had been working with Overwatch officially for over a year now, Winston had kept him off the public record, stating it was for his own safety. Hanzo had made many enemies during his defection, and it was well known there was a large black market price on his head, so Winston's reasoning had seemed sound at the time.

Now that McCree considered it, though, it was likely Winston, or perhaps Morrison, had hatched a plan to move against the Yakuza clans as soon as Hanzo willingly stepped through the base doors. When 76 had briefed them the idea for this op-Have Hanzo flush out Yakuza crime lords, by pretending to be back to claim the Shimada Empire-McCree had laughed out loud, dismissing it. Hanzo himself had stormed from the room, even those unfamiliar with him realizing that he had been deeply offended.

It had been Genji to convince him otherwise.

Two months later, and they’re breaking into the head office of a Yakuza heavyweight, and McCree hopes that both Shimadas can close that chapter of their lives.

Hanzo had already met several times with low ranking members of this particular family, and once with the man who the office belonged to. McCree had been present for most of those meetings, posing as a personal guard. The little glimpses of what Hanzo could have been were enough to leave him unsettled, and he was sure that was part of the relief he was feeling tonight.

They were well within the 20-minute window Athena had given them. It was a national holiday, where many of the offices would be closed and all but empty, including their target. Genji and Tracer had as of late last night scoped much of the outside of this particular building. They’d figured the security drone patrols, the locations of the sat-links, and with Winston’s help and a little bit of luck, hi-jacked a poorly covered net port, loading Athena directly into the local network and letting her disable much of the automated security for their actual break-in. All they had to do was literally walk in, take an elevator, steal a bunch of incriminating data, and leave. Cakewalk.

This floor was an array of luxury offices, 18 stories up, glass walls and hard light statues, a blending of both modern and ancient design. A droid receptionist made him jump and level Peacekeeper before he realized it was silent and still, disabled by Athena's earlier network intrusion. There was a waterfall behind the main desk, flanked with imposing red columns and dark marble floors, though he only spared the briefest glance before following Hanzo deeper into the building. Tile turned to carpet as they started down the hall, passing by rooms with ornate meeting tables that probably cost more than McCree made in a year.

The office they were searching for was a corner suite, large floor to ceiling windows offering an impressive view of the city at night. The head of the office was claimed by a huge antique desk, crowned by a large, state of the art holoscreen projector. A pot filled with bamboo and other plants decorate the corner, and a low, elegant table with a few chairs next to it took the middle. The interior walls were glass as well, tinted dark and coated with designs that looked like paintings-waves, birds, mountains and clouds. The office itself was big, a stark difference from the crowded chairs and shared desk they'd seen below. Against the darkened wall was a low cabinet showcasing bottles of what seemed to be very expensive wines and other liquors.

"Nowhere to hide." Peacekeeper slides back to his holster. "I think this'll pan out just fine."

Hanzo finally relaxes, and even gives him a reassuring nod as he leans over the desk and pulls up the holoscreen. An easy grin twists McCree's lips, and he reflexively reaches up to tip his hat in a mock salute before remembering that they'd opted for their default dress for much of these meetings: Hanzo in a suit coat and open-necked collar shirt, worn loose to easily reveal his tattoo, and himself dressed similarly, though with the addition of minimal body armour underneath. It meant he'd left his hat back in their hotel room, and instead he tries to hide the failed gesture by cuing his com instead, voice slightly gruff. “We’re in.”

He hears Hanzo bites back a huff a laughter, and he can’t help but think he’d make an idiot of himself a hundred times over to make him smile.

Back at base, Winston acknowledges them. _"Good. Pop Athena's sub-routine into the terminal, she'll be able to pull the data in under 3 and you two should be home free."_

"On it." Hanzo has the minuscule drive, almost as small at their ear comms, already plugged it, and Jesse can see files being rapidly pulled and minimized on the screen. Moments later, the archer adds, voice tinged with disgust "Genji was right, Osaragi’s grown old and weak. Some of what is saved on here is disgusting."

“Disgusting?” McCree turns back to watching the door, “What, like porn?”

Hanzo grunts in reply, and he can just picture the twist of revulsion on his face. “I sincerely hope Athena is not just copying this drive. Winston will have a lot of unnecessary data to comb through if so. I cannot believe this man is as powerful I was told. My father hated him 15 years ago, now I think he would have had his fingers taken off and banished from our territory by now."

“Sounds like a pleasant guy.”

"He was...harsh. Though sometimes I still feel that he had the right of it, in some cases." A sigh, "He would never have let men like this gain as much influence as they have."

In his ear, Winston's voice comes through. _"Almost done, and I think we have what we're after."_ He can hear the faint clicking of fingers on the keyboard. _"Good lord, there is a lot of porn on here. Athena, I feel like I'm going to have to quarantine that drive after this."_

He chuckles deep in his throat, a reply on the tip of his tongue when the comm sends shrill static through his ear. From the corner of his eye he sees Hanzo on his feet and bow in hand, meaning he hears it as well- they’re being jammed. Adrenaline spikes through his system, reflexes honed through years of work with Blackwatch have his gun drawn before he even knows where to point it.

He settles for aiming Peacekeeper at the door, other hand ready to pull a flashbang on the first person to walk through. Hanzo is glancing left and right, arrow knocked, brow furrowed. He curses under his breath, too soft for Jesse to hear.

They’re waiting for the sounds of footsteps in the hallway, so when ground line speaker com built into the desk crackles to life, they both nearly jump out of their skin. It’s a smooth voice, and Jesse’s fledgling grasp of Japanese isn't enough to decipher what they are saying, besides a name.

_“Shimada Hanzo.”_

Hanzo fixes his glare on the com, his weapon following his line of sight. His face goes rigid as he listens, the other man continuing in a voice that even through the speaker sounds haughty. He sees Hanzo’s head snap up and how he peers through the windows, eyes widened.

"Hanzo?" Jesse mouths, trying not give the man on the line too much info. Assuming there wasn't video feed trained on the room already. Assuming they have a chance to make it out in one piece.

“Snipers,” is Hanzo’s equally silent reply. A head tilt to the building across the road, then he directs his gaze down. Two, no wait. Hazo just barely tips his held arrow in another, third direction- the high rise west. Three.

“Well, shit.” It comes out under his breath. His words from earlier echo back in mind. _No place to hide._

Hanzo replies back to the phone, sounding calm and collected. Jesse can see the thready pulse in his neck from where he’s standing, and how there’s the slightest twitch in the muscle on his jaw. It’s equivalent to another man hyperventilating-Hanzo’s scared. His own stomach becomes a knot as the realization hits.

Hanzo says one more thing, the words curt, then reaches up and places the line on hold.

He lets himself exhale, though he stays rooted to the spot. There's nowhere they can move without immediately getting peppered full of holes. "Are ya sure you should've done that?"

“No.”Hanzo growls, knuckles white on his bow. “This is bad.”

"I can see that, darlin" His own heart is racing a mile a minute. Three fucking snipers. If the support team hasn't clued in by now, they're goners. He hopes Winston and Athena aren’t just sending in Genji and Tracer after them.

Hanzo faces him, chewing his lip. “They do not know why I am here.”

"Fantastic. How is that supposed to help us?" Peacekeeper is heavy in his grip. It's no good against someone a half mile away.

“Information is always an advantage.”Hanzo stands taller, laying his bow and quiver behind the desk. “We cannot fight our way out, dragons or no.” He faces the door. “So, we will talk.”

The phrase triggers a deep sense of foreboding in his gut. “I beg your pardon?”

"Do you-" Hanzo bites back his words, looking at the desk again. Not sure if they’re still being listened in on. "Confias en mi?" The Spanish is soft, barely above a whisper. He'd been teaching Hanzo here and there, in exchange for his lessons in Japanese. Hanzo was a much better student. Jesse nods. He would trust Hanzo with his life. He _is_  trusting Hanzo with his life.

"Do not talk, do not fight. You are my bodyguard, but do not challenge these people.” The archer rolls the sleeves of his suit up, so the tattoo is immediately visible. “I am hoping this will play out like the onsen.”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t recall, that mis- that was deemed a right failure-” He stops at the look on the other man’s face. It’s almost pleading. The first thuds of boots on carpet reach their ears, and Jesse swallows nervously. "‘Right." He nods, more sure. "I can do that."

They’re closer now, he estimates a group of 6 or 7. He catches Hanzo’s eyes, licks his lips. Listeners or not, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t say it one more time. “You know I lo-”

“Don’t. ” Hanzo’s voice is a low growl as he cuts him off.

Dark shapes thud past the glass wall, and he can see the outline of pulse rifle on at least two of the men. It’s almost funny how they casually open the door, instead of kicking straight through like he expected. The sudden shine of a powerful flashlight in his eyes, but he doesn’t blink. He keeps his weapon pointed, one man barking at him, probably telling him to lower it. He sees handguns aim in his direction, the pulse rifles focused on Hanzo. He keeps it up till Hanzo snaps at him to drop it. All part of playing bodyguard to a well-known Yakuza heir. The thought occurs that he's lucky they didn't blast him outright.

Two of the seven quickly approach, roughly grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back. They pat him down, grabbing Peacekeeper, his flashbangs, the knife tucked in his boot, digging the comm link out of his ear and crushing it underfoot. Another reaches out to Hanzo, but when he goes to grab his wrist Hanzo simply stares down his nose at him, and the man backs up. Hanzo slowly pulls his own commlink, placing it down on the table. The man goes to take it cautiously, jumping back in surprise when Hanzo grabs a paperweight and smashes it himself.

Looking cautiously at the broken ear piece, then back to Hanzo, the man shrugs and sweeps it to the floor, grinding it under his heel for good measure. They take his bow and quiver, then check once more behind the desk, coming up empty handed.

The man holding the flashlight sweeps it back and forth, making sure the room is clear. Picking up the phone Hanzo had placed on hold, he barks something into the receiver. Jesse catches how Hanzo's eyes widen, just for a moment.

The wait is only minutes, though it seems like hours. They see the pair before they hear them. A man, older, long black hair shot through with wide streaks of silver, his face all planes and angles. He looks he could be related, he has the same regal air as Hanzo. Jesse can see the edges of a tattoo peeking on the man’s wrist, and neck of the man’s tailored suit.

A girl follows, dressed in similar clothing to what Hanzo usually wore- the short yukata with long baggy pants, those hers are loose to her feet. She looks relativly young, but that wasn’t what set off warning bells. Intricate tattoos crawl up both her arms, onto her chest, disappearing under a binding. Two swords are sheathed at her waist, a third clutched in her hand. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and a twisted smile graces her lips, and she quickly claims the chair from behind the desk, folding her hands in her lap.

The girl starts the conversation, after a mocking seated half-bow to Hanzo.

"Itoko," She says.

“Itoko.” is Hanzo’s level reply. He knows that word- _Cousin._

Her tone is light, and she speaks rapidly, lilting. Hanzo's expression is cold, and all but unreadable; he only offers replies after the girl seems to pause uncomfortably. Easily assuming the role of banished, angry heir. Jesse can't follow the conversation much at all really, but it seems to him for the most part, Hanzo has the upper hand. She gestures to the man, her father, he thinks. Hanzo's glare makes him shift, slightly but enough for the next remark to seem cutting. The girl laughs at this, clapping her hands together.

"Shimada" is peppered throughout the sentences, and Genji's name more than once. Each time he sees how Hanzo's face contorts, rage flashing across his features. Maybe Hanzo’s playing it up a little, for the family who believes he killed his brother. He's not sure.

The girls points to him, her grin prominent now. _American. Foreigner._ The word for idiot. Hanzo shrugs, his reply short. The girl laughs again, motioning for one of the armed guards to bring her Peacekeeper. In her hands it’s comically huge, she turns it over before pointing it directly at him. He sees Hanzo shift out of the corner of his eye.

Her finger is twitching on the trigger. He can feel his heart in his throat.

“Hey now,” He tries to stand a little straighter, ignoring the hands gripping painfully into his arms. “I don’t much like-” Hanzo crosses the room in a fleeting instant, the balled fist takes him by surprise as Hanzo slugs him across the face. He hears his nose crack, and probably would of gone sideways if not for the men holding him upright. He spits blood on the carpet, his nose and face radiating pain. _It’s part of his act._

"Shut. up. I did not give you permission to speak." Hanzo turns his attention back to the girl, who looks like she just opened up a birthday gift. He apologizes to her, offers what sounds like an explanation, takes the handkerchief one of her guards offers him to wipe off his knuckles. Jesse catches the word for “nothing.”

The girl spins the barrel, lifting it once more, eyeing the iron sights. “Bang, Bang." The words are bookended by her laugh, though she lowers the pistol afterward, and resumes her conversation with her cousin. It seems to have shifted, onto the sword in her lap. She holds it out, offering it to Hanzo, whose hands clench into fists, refusing to accept. They go back and forth, Genji's name seeming to take every other word. Hanzo's composure is slipping, genuine anger coloring his words.

 _It's_ his _sword._ It clicks suddenly. For some reason, he'd pictured it as far more ornate.

Her face twists and she points out the window. McCree doesn't need to know Japanese to get the message- "You don’t have an option.”

Hanzo takes the sword, gripping it far harder than strictly necessary, and she claps her hands together.

“Shimada Hanzo. Welcome Home.” Her accent is barely there, English better than Genji’s.

Hanzo stares, hands wrapped around hilt and sheath of the weapon. McCree prays that he won't start swinging- it would be suicide. They're so close to walking out, and once break line of sight with the snipers, and he's pretty sure they'll have a solid chance at an even fight. If he can get his gun back the odds would be even better, but he'll settle for breaking faces with a fist if he has too.

The girl notices as well, and her hand ghosts her own blade. She issues a challenge, cocky with the confidence Hanzo will keep his weapon sheathed. No one even dares to move, until Hanzo sighs and shifts so the sword is held in one hand.  
Standing, she turns her back to them both, her and the man leaving the room first. McCree lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, and Hanzo does a subtle head tilt, indicating one of the men with a rifle. Under the throbbing pain in his nose, he smiles. They had this.

The girl sticks her head back through the doorway, and they both freeze. "Oh, and kill the bodyguard. My cousin doesn't need him anymore."

The two men holding him kick him hard in the back of the knee, knocking him kneeling on the ground. Fear makes his mouth run dry, and he starts to struggle, trying to tumble forward, to do anything except take a bullet in the back of the brain. Hanzo's voice makes him pause and immediately he feels a pistol in the base of his skull.

Genuine fear crosses Hanzo's face, though quickly masked, and he repeats his command, the word sharp. It brings the girl fully back to the room, switching back to heated Japanese.

Hanzo stares her down, and from this angle, McCree can see the slight tremor that passes through his hand clutching the sword. His eyes flick to Jesse again, then to his cousin, who is impatiently waiting for an explanation.

Hanzo draws the sword in a smooth pull. "It's been too long since my dragons tasted blood."

It hits him then, what exactly is about to happen. Jesse watches as Hanzo approaches slowly, steps measured.

“Hanzo…” his voice trails off. There’s nothing he can say. _I trust you._

The thought does little to quell his spiking panic.

The two men haul McCree back to his feet. Hanzo steps close, his hand on Jesse's jaw. For a moment he caresses him, soft and caring, before his fingers dig in and he wrenches his head forward, so his lips are even with his ear. "Lo siento, te amo." The Spanish is soft, rapid, and he almost misses it, as Hanzo continues loudly, "It is an Honour to be killed by a Shimada.”

Jesse pulls against the men holding his arms, fear pooling deep in his belly. _Te Amo._ The words burn in his head, in his chest. He wants to be brave, he _knows_ this will destroy everything Hanzo has worked so hard to become since coming to Overwatch. Since his brother had forgiven him, and he started to forgive himself.

“I kn-”

His words cut off in a strangled gasp as the sword slips through his ribs, right through the thin mesh armor, and Hanzo buries it to the hilt. Pain doesn't register, not at first, only the numbing feeling of shock. He tries to smile, to give Hanzo some sort of sign, but the other man has his head turned away. Instead, Jesse looks widely around the room, his eyes locking onto the girl- the cousin- the Shimada whose orchestrated the whole thing. She looks delighted.

Hanzo pulls the sword free in a quick movement, and to Jesse, it felt as if all the strength he had left with it. His knees buckle again, pain starting to radiate from his side, his limbs are lead. The only warmth was the blood seeping down his front.

McCree is not a weak man, but three feet of steel through a lung has a way of breaking a person.

 _“Fuck--”_ His voice breaks from a shout to a wheeze, and he can feel air bubbling against his ribs. He clamps his prosthetic hand to the front of his chest, his other hand gripping the carpet like a lifeline. His lungs are on fire. He cranes his head upwards, trying to meet Hanzo eyes. Hanzo has a plan. He has too.

Hanzo turns away.

The girl cuts in, tone admonishing. "You are taking too long to die, foreigner. Cousin, you've lost your touch."

Jesse struggles to stand upright, to do anything. He can't seem to fill his lungs with air. He just wants Hanzo to look at him, so he knows he's ok. “Han-”

Finally, the archer looks back, but the girl is there first, and when her foot meets Jesse's ribs, he's pretty sure this is some horrible nightmare. The noise that breaks past his lips sounds inhuman. He crumples in a heap, blood now freely flowing, face buried in the carpet.

Someone else approaches- a gentle hand turns his chin sideways and he blinks, seeing Hanzo kneeling close. There’s a tug at his shirt, and he realizes Hanzo is using it to wipe his own blood off his sword. If it didn’t hurt so much, he’d laugh. The broken sigh that bubbles up from his lungs might even have been mistaken for one.

More cold Japanese and he hears the last of the guards leave, the door closing with a sense of finality.

This has to be a dream. Jesse closes his eyes, trying to gasp another breath, against the pain. The smell of blood permeates his nose, warm and metallic. Again he tries to force himself to rise, but his chest constricts and his visions dims, a hissing escaping from somewhere below his heart.

He doesn’t want to die.

He thinks he hears beeping.

_“Shimada! McCree!!”_

The sounds is buzzing, digital, tinny. Faint.

_“-you guys alright in there? Athen says you’re being jammed and there’s movement on the inside-”_

It’s Lena’s voice.

McCree forces his eyes open again.

_"It's been almost 10 minutes Winston, we're going in-”_

He tries to focus, the room blurring.

On the floor. Hanzo’s ear comm, undamaged.

It doesn’t even occur to him to question how.

_“Genji’s losing his shit, Winston, we can't wait much longer!”_

Winston’s voice.  _“Tracer, wait! I think we’re through, I have Hanzo’s com -can you hear me?”_

“Lena-” His voice is weak, a wet wheeze, barely above a whisper. He feels like he’s drowning.

  
Fighting for every inch, he crawls his half-numb hand across the carpet, till his fingers land on the comm. A fumbled pull brings it closer to his face. “Trace--careful, three….snipers, roof...” his voice has no power, and the from the silence on the other end, for a moment, for a lifetime, he fears she didn’t hear him.

Tinged with fear, she crackles back over the communicator. _“Wait what- McCree? Where’s Hanzo? What happened?!”_

“S’a trap, he went with ‘em” His words slur together. The room is slowly spinning. Like being drunk. His lips are wet. “‘M down.”

_“Oh hell, hold on! We’ll be right there!”_

Her voice keeps chattering through the comm, her and Genji closing rapidly. He can't really hear her anymore.

He knows he should try and stem the bleeding. All he can focus on is how the carpet fibers are wicking up red, as blood seeps across the floor.

A wave of exhaustion overtakes him, and his eyes sink closed. He thinks of Hanzo-Hanzo who had spent the previous night cuddled against his chest. Hanzo who groused in the morning and told him he should learn what a razor is. Hanzo, his Hanzo. Face unflinching as the sword cuts into his chest. Hanzo’s voice, soft against his ear, tinged with fear.

 _Lo Siento._ I am sorry. _Te amo._ I love you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> y'all gonna hate me.
> 
> \-----
> 
> SO ALSO, I WROTE AN ALTERNATE SAD ENDING. If you wanna go straight to sad town, after this chapter go here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8230442 FOR MAXIMUM MCHANGST!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might of lied about it being two chapters. 
> 
> Huge thank you to Dafnier and goodluckdetective for beta reading/editing this. I cannot thank you enough. 
> 
> Also, please check out goodluckdetective's own work, Playing Possum was one of the first mchanzo fics I read and it's one that got me hooked on the ship!

 

_"Brother."_

_Genji's voice, so familiar yet foreign. Every time he hears his brother speak, it feels like shards in his gut. Fragments of grief, guilt, relief, all rolled into one._

_His first instinct, like always, is to walk away. To retreat and put up the walls he was safe behind. Genji would forgive him, again. Every time Hanzo slighted him, ignored his attempts to reach out, each time he lashed out in anger and frustration, Genji would nod and accept it, understanding._

_Genji always had been the better of them. It hits him how tired he is, of running from Genji's forgiveness. He might not agree that he's earned redemption, but the_ _least he could do is meet his brother halfway. His palms hurt from where his nails are biting in. He sighs, turning._ _"Brother."_

_Genji is sitting quietly, perched with hands in lap on the edge of the walkway, and to his credit doesn't show any surprise when Hanzo acknowledges him this time._

_"I know the last thing you want to do is go back to the Yakuza. But it's not like you to shy from danger."_

_Hanzo shakes his head, a small gesture. Almost imperceptible to those not close to  him._

_"The nature of the mission is not the reason."_

_Genji doesn't say anything, merely waits. So very different from when they were younger. Before, he would have prodded, Hanzo would have snapped, with the conversations, though well intentioned, quickly devolving into harsh words or even blows._

_It hurts, deep beneath his skin. He's missed his brother, but even more so, he's missed out on him growing into who he is today. Because he was too stubborn, too idealistic, too much of a fool to see beyond the clan's wishes. It was only after he'd thought he lost the only family who truly cared for him did he realize what he had done._

_If he had been more thorough. If he had been cleaner, more precise, if he hadn't dropped the sword and ran till his lungs gave out, Genji would not have escaped with his life. For the longest time, he was convinced Genji hadn't._

_"I-" he hesitates, unsure. "I am afraid of...reclaiming that role. I do not wish to face what I could have been." The last sentence tumbles out in a rush, and he finds himself studying Genji for any sign of judgment or pity. As always, the faceplate is unreadable to him. Another shard._

_"It is not something they....something we ask of you lightly. " His brother tilts his head, breaking from the meditative pose to bend a leg and rest an arm on his knee, fingers tapping staccato. A habit he'd retained since childhood, whenever he was restless. "They'll respect your wishes if you refuse. When they asked me if you'd be willing, I admitted that I wasn't sure if you would do it-" Hanzo feels a prick of annoyance at that, though he quickly stamps it down. "-but I think it might be good for you, Aniki."_

_"Good for me?"_

_"Good for both of us, really. We'll be working to remove much our family's influence, and Zenyatta always seems to feel that I was seeking closure. I think you are too. And..." his fingers wave, and Hanzo can hear a note of levity in his voice. "Just think, we will be restoring honor to our family's name. I seem to recall you were pretty hung up on that."_

_He doesn't reply, instead crossing his arms and huffing._

_Genji detects his anger is fading and leans in close. "We'll have our best agents with you as well. The best of the best, really."_

_That elicits a smile. "Best of the best, huh? You, a hyperactive british girl, and the cowboy? I feel safer already."_

_His brother gives him a playful shove, mock offense now coloring his words. "I'll have you know Tracer and I were top of our class, back when we were in Basic for Overwatch!"_

_"You?" Hanzo snorts. "A top student? Out of how many? Two?"_

_"Three!" He laughs, and Hanzo finds himself grinning now. "I mean technically Winston was top of the class, then Tracer, then me. I have the photo on my - did I never show you? Here.." He unclips his handset, opening up a profile and flicking back through the photo gallery. It's too fast to really see, but Hanzo catches glimpses of white terrain, omnic faces, then further back, places, animals, people. Snapshots of the years of Genji's life he missed._

_"This was my first team." He passes the device to Hanzo. It's Genji, Tracer,  and  Winston whose holding his certificate with a look of embarrassed pride. Reinhardt stands close, hand on his brother's shoulder, Torbjorn, Mercy -_

_"Is that McCree?"_

_"Yup. He was, believe it or not, one of our instructors for awhile. Covert ops, obviously my best subject. That's Reyes, his commander, and Morrison. And that's Amari. She was second in command to Jack and a sniper. She taught sharpshooting, though none of us had the knack for high-level stuff. You would have liked her back then.  Pretty much everyone there taught us something useful. Torb was all about engineering, from battlefield repairs of equipment to how to disable omnics. Rein did group coordination, defensive tactics, how to fight as a squad. Mercy did a course on battlefield medicine, advanced EMS, that sort of thing. Everyone there except Jack and Reyes, they didn't have time to teach new recruits, they were just there so it was all official or something."_

_Hanzo studies the photo, tapping the screen to zoom in. "Your arms are different."_

_Genji nods. "It was one of Mercy's earlier prosthetics. Carbon fiber musculature, bound to synthetic skin if I remember right. She was trying to mimic a more human appearance. I was having trouble adjusting, at first." The statement is so matter of fact, not a hint of discomfort._

_The guilt returns, two-fold. Sinking into his stomach like a lead weight. He hands the handset back, his smile gone._

_Genji continues, heedless. "I can't believe McCree never showed you that. He has tons of photos and better stories. You and him are practically dating, so I'd thought by now he would have filled you in on how Overwatch used to be, ha."_  

_Hanzo sputters, caught off guard. "I am not-he and I-" Stumbling over his words, he finishes lamely. "We are just good friends."_

_His brother's face may be unreadable, but the way he leans back, craning his head to meet his gaze shows he's amused._

_"Just good friends. Of course." It sounds like he's trying not to laugh. "You know, McCree and I are good friends too." He paused, baiting. Hanzo is sure he's smirking underneath the faceplate._

_He gives in. "So?"_

_"He came to me for advice a few times. Asked me how to cook Japanese meals. Asked about special holidays too. And..." He starts chuckling, words coming out breathless rush. "...How to ask a certain someone a certain question."  Genji pauses to regain his composure, though the mirth is still strong in his voice.  "I may have given him the wrong translation."_

  _Hanzo starts. "That was your fault ?!"_

_His brother turns, and seeing Hanzo expression, doubles over in a fit of laughter._

_"Genji! I thought he'd looked it -I thought he was being rude! I made him apologize! By handwritten letter!"_

_"I know!!" Genji mimes wiping a tear from his face, trying and failing to stifle his amusement._

_It helps, a little, his brother teasing him like a day had not passed, and he finds himself smiling again, though the nausea in his gut remains._

_"Alright," He amends. "Perhaps we are more than good friends."_

_"Well, if you had listened before storming out in a huff, you would have heard that he'll be your personal escort for this mission. His suggestion."_

_"Hrmph."_

_Genji stands, stretching. "Think on it, Aniki. You don't have to make a decision tonight, but like I said before. I think this will be good for the both of us."_

  _Hanzo nods, thoughtful. Perhaps Genji was right._

 

* * *

 

 

 _And perhaps he should have trusted his first reaction._  

The dragons are frantic beneath his skin, a hairsbreadth away from shattering into reality. His own breath sounds harsh and hoarse in his ears, and each step further from the door, from Jesse, is another rusted shard in his chest.

 _Nothing compared to being run through._  

Looping like a corrupted holovid, his mind replays his last moments with his lover. The way  Jesse's face fell when he realized Hanzo's desperate play. How he'd tried not to panic, instead, trying offer _him_ comfort. How Hanzo, selfish coward that he was, couldn't even meet his gaze when he put the sword through his lungs, in the vain hope it'd keep him alive long enough to get help.

He feels like he's going to vomit. Desperately he tries to school his face back to mild disdain. There is still a chance he can end this, and get back to Jesse in time. To staunch the blood leaking from his chest and the air from his lungs.

His training tells him that if he missed, if he put his sword through his heart, Jesse is dead. The last thing he would have seen was Hanzo walking away.

The rational part of his mind cautions patience. He needs to make it too close quarters, but far enough away from Jesse so he's not caught in the crossfire.  If Jesse is able he'll use his comm to call for help. Morrison and Amari are on the small, mobile gunship, circling high in the sky. Genji and Tracer are stationed nearby, supposedly watching the perimeter. If the snipers didn't see them first. Another shard of fear, added itself to his growing collection.

His cousin, Chiyome is still talking at him, nattering away like an incessant bird.  He just needs her to believe he's on their side long enough to make it to the elevator,  where he can call the dragons and strike all of them down. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his Uncle place a hand lightly over his hip. He remembers from years long past that his Uncle Youta favored the Kaiken, a short dagger, and a vicious fighting style to accompany. He would have to die first. 

"Father said you'd never accept." She's gleeful, he realizes. Proud her plan seems to have worked. He ignores her, focusing on placing one foot in front of the other.

"My father _should_ have been the head of our clan, after you disgraced us. The council disagreed, saying entrusting one heir was a mistake.  With you back, once we dispose of them, we will be free to rebuild our house, and my father will have full control of our empire. I actually suggested reaching out to you as soon as we heard you were in Japan and planning on returning to Hanamura. "

He doesn't care. She was walking in front of him now, peering up at his face, and trying to gauge his mood.

"I'm like you, you know." That finally makes him look up. She continues, "I have two." 

"We are nothing alike." The sentence is hissed through gritted teeth.

Her eyebrow arches. So full of herself. So blind. "Well," She smirks. "I didn't murder my brother."

She's testing him. Maybe she is not so sure of their alliance after all. 

They step onto the marble floors of the lobby,  and it takes every ounce of self-control to not look back across the building, toward the corner office.

"Where did you find that bodyguard anyway? Why a foreigner? I thought you would have approached one of our families first. Half the shimada-gumi would have answered your call." 

His hand itches for the blade, and he can hear his own teeth grinding in his skull. Youta signaling  the guards to a halt, three stepping in to surround him.

Chiyome shoots her father a quick glance, but he offers nothing. She knows she's struck a nerve, and after a moment, continues. "He didn't even put up a fight. How skilled could he have possibly be-"

The dragons boil over before he can stop them, primal and furious. There is nothing left to do but draw the sword and direct them. The guards scatter. Shorts burst of gunfire, a wracked scream fills the room, the dragons seething around him. It's over too quickly for the three who stepped close, then a fourth who takes the time to level his pulse rifle. The three remaining shimada-gumi turn and flee.  Trying to put distance between them, where the guns will have a chance. They are not nearly quick enough. Hanzo inhales deep, feeling power in his core.

Instincts long buried reawaken with sword in hand, and the dragons yearn to hunt. Enhanced speed easily brings him behind the closest guard. It's nothing for him to strike, the man falling with a quiet crumple. Two more steps and he's caught the second, the man almost managing to whip his pistol around before he too is laid low. He spots the third man desperately making for the emergency stairs in the furthest corner of the lobby, rifle forgotten on the floor. He shifts, intending to take out the last of the shimada-gumi before dealing with his family. Exhaling, blade light in hand.

His family does not give him that liberty.  Youta calls his own creature, voice imperial, and  it answers as an undercurrent of rotting hatred outlined in sharp red. The summon is huge, like his father's, easily double the size of his own.

Not a heartbeat behind, his cousin cries out.  As promised, two whip-thin dragons rise in almost velvet purple, flanking her like hooded vipers.

His own summons settle into his skin and his blade, livewire in his muscles.

The sword has always been their true home, where wielder and spirit unite to become unstoppable. It's intoxicating, though he's done his best to forget. With what he did to Genji he never wanted to feel that sense of control again. With the bow, once he releases them on the arrow, they're no longer his. With sword, the bond is much stronger, more intimate. They grace the wielder with speed, dexterity, strength, though summoning them is draining.

Letting the last guard go, he braces himself for a charge that has yet to come. His uncle was a powerful fighter. The stance Youta takes demonstrates this, low and crouching. Hanzo notes he's missing two fingers on his left hand, wielding his weapon in the right.

A knife is vicious, designed to get in close and flay, gut, bleed. Hanzo cannot let him in range.

 He knows nothing about his cousin- she had been only 6 or 7 when he left. She'd drawn the wakizashi, favoring the short blade like her father. A wise choice even though the lobby is massive, if they press him close to walls or columns he'll have trouble with the reach of his own sword.

The air seems to crackle, and cautiously he steps, trying to place the reception desk between him and his uncle, hoping that will delay his rush.

He knows that if he loses his summons first, he will die. 

"Shimada Hanzo!" It's the first time Youta has addressed him directly since hailing over the phone, his voice booming across the space. "I thought you would show your true colors. You never intended to come back to Hanamura, did you?" 

He remains silent.

Chiyome's features scrunch in confusion, her words bitter. "But father- why did you let me…?"

He hears the man sigh. "You had to learn. If you had succeeded in bringing this wretch home, then we would have had a powerful ally against the elders, though it was unlikely. Just as well, his death will bring you praise from the council." Youta shifts, tensing. "It is time to put down this rabid dog. End the stain on our family's name. He is a kin killer. Do not underestimate him."

With that, they both charge, streaking into his space. His uncle dodges quickly around the corner of the counter, forcing Hanzo to retreat back towards the columns. He whips the sword down, just  in time to barely deflect the blow aimed towards his gut. Youta takes a short step back before swinging in and again Hanzo has to give ground to avoid the dagger, unable to bring his weapon to bear.

Footsteps clacking against marble tile draw his eye for a split second. Chiyome is flanking, blocking him from moving into the room at large. Back is the feasible option, towards the edge of the room where he'll be at the mercy of both of them.

The flood of spotlight into the lobby throws them all into stark relief, yet he cannot pause to wonder. 

He tries to shoulder into Youta as the man closes again, getting under his reach. The glancing sting of blade in his bicep makes him grunt, but he succeeds in forcing his Youta to the side, and Hanzo takes the opportunity to scramble away from the wall. Chiyome is there, wakizashi whipping through the air. His own sword answers, shying the tip away from his ribs, and he follows through with a kick aimed at her feet. She springs aside, feather light, but Youta is again on his left; Hanzo has to throw himself into a clumsy roll as his uncle aims to disembowel him.

He just barely gets his feet firmly underneath him, breath heaving and muscles twitching. His Uncle doesn't stop, just shifts his momentum and is on him again. Hanzo flicks his sword up, feeling it bite into flesh, followed by a flash of relief. 

His uncle's left-hand closes on his wrist, yanking his sword arm forward to pull him off balance. It's only through the dragon's enhancement that Hanzo is able to shy away from the blade, through it still tears through the top of his thigh and he stumbles. He throws out his injured arm to catch himself, it gives out as he lands on the floor-

 The window pane furthest away _shatters_ , bullets ripping through two inches of glass and cracking across the tile. Both his uncle and cousin spring back, crouching as air and wind and noise rushes in from the outside. Hanzo's head whips around, and he sees the gunship turning, the engines whining against the turbulence of the high rise as it tries to keep steady. A streak of green launches itself from the open bay door, a gap of more than six meters. Blue follows.

Genji and Tracer.

 Genji is calling him, drawing his weapon, while Tracer takes off down the hall before he can even see her. Towards the office, to Jesse. The shard in his chest twists, his dragons flee like water through a sieve. It leaves him crumpled and exhausted, sword dropping from nerveless fingers. 

Youta senses the moment of weakness, rushing him with a snarl.

 He hears Genji's cry, green flooding his vision as suddenly, his brother is standing over him. 

Genji's sword is piercing through their uncle's chest. 

Youta gasps, lips twitching in abject shock. "Who...are..only a... Shimada…" 

Hanzo stares,  watching the older man's jaw goes slack as his dagger finally falls to the floor. Youta's dragon twists inward and falls apart, fading with a torn roar. Hanzo is reeling- It's Jesse's face he sees. Jesse with sword through the chest and features going still. The man collapses with a sickening lurch. 

Chiyome _howls_ , wordless and stricken, closing the gap between them impossibly fast. His brother whips his blade free and shifts his stance to stand between Hanzo and his cousin, his dragon seeming to roar in response.

She darts _by_ them, towards the window. Genji moves to follow, but stops as Hanzo cries out.

"Jesse-" The name is tight in his throat, rawer than the cuts on his body. Hanzo struggles to find his feet, and Genji offers a hand, then a shoulder as Hanzo wavers. He needs to get back to the office. He _needs_ him to be ok.

Genji holds him firmly, concern evident in his voice. "Aniki, you're shak-" 

_"Jesse."_

There is no room for argument in his tone, and he's thankful Genji recognizes it. They set off back towards the office. His brother doesn't say anything more, and Hanzo doesn't notice how Genji's steps hitch as he listens to his comm. 

He catches Tracer's voice as they near, as it carries down the hall, almost shrill with barely contained panic.

"I don't think I can- I don't know what to do- he's barely breathing-Can you put Mercy on the line, I-I can't stop it-"

They round the final corner, and Hanzo doesn't even register that he's faltered again, his brother the only reason he's staying upright. 

_No._

Jesse is supine in the hallway, eyes half open and glassy. Blood is frothy on his lips, his breathing rapid and shallow. Tracer had pulled him from the office where he'd last left him, ripped open his shirt and peeled away the thin, useless armor, and has her hands pressed against the wound in Jesse's chest, red coating her fingertips.

The wound he made.

"We need evac! He can't- He's dying-Just bring the bloody ship to us-" Tracer's pleading. Helpless.  

Genji leaves him, and his legs buckle without his support.

The wound _he_ made. 

Shards, under his skin, in his throat. Twisting deep. He did this.

_The wound he made._

"JUST LAND IN THE FUCKING COURTYARD, MORRISON."

Genji is sitting with them now, and he realizes that Jesse's still somewhat conscious as his head tilts to the side, hand weakly reaching upwards. Genji grabs his palm, holding it clasped beneath both hands. He watches his brother lean close, listening  over Tracer's frantic yelling.

His brother's voice carries down the hall, and it hits him like a lightning bolt. "He's here, he's here, do not worry."

Hanzo surges to his feet, half falling, half stumbling, numb.

He drops to his knees at Jesse's head, and his heart breaks when the other man's hazy, warm brown eyes focus on his face. He's so pale the red bubbling from his mouth and staining his beard looks fake.

Jesse _smiles_ at him, the barest flick at the corner of his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaves a drawn out, raspy  sigh.

_No, no no._

Guilt crashes over him like a wave, guilt and regret and disgust and fear. Like Genji all over again.

He feels himself slipping. The words tumble over like a mantra.

_"Gomenasai, Gomenasai, Gomenasai, Gomenasai, Gomenasai."_

He folds over, pressing a kiss against Jesse's clammy brow, hands tracing his still face.

_"Gomenasai, Koishiteru. Gomenasai."_

There is no answer.

It's his brother who scoops up McCree, picking up Jesse's limp body as easily as if he was a child before streaking down the hall in a blur. Hanzo ignores the pain in his thigh, hauling himself to his feet again, following on staggering steps. Tracer catching him as he trips, and dimly he registers she's talking. 

"What the ever bloody fuck happened in here?"

He doesn't know how to answer.

They limp as fast as his wounded leg will take him, leaving bodies, stained carpets, death behind.

His uncle is still prone in the lobby, dark liquid pooled beneath on the marble. They make it to the elevator, Tracer alternating between barking into her comm and trying to get answers from Hanzo.

His stomach heaves once  inside, and he empties it in the corner. He feels Tracer's hand on his shoulder. She's shaking.

"Mate, he'll be alright. We have biotics on the ship, Ana's not Mercy but she's better than first aid. Mercy herself is on her way to Kabul via hyper jet as we speak."

He can hear the false promise in her voice. There's nothing left but bile and disgust.

_The wound he made._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I thought this was going to be two chapters. Then I was thinking I can finish it up in three. Well, I'm wrong. It's actually, for real, going to be 4. I know this because 4 is mostly written. 
> 
> Anyway, here you go, have fun <3  
> Thanks to Dafnier and Goodluckdetective for betaing again!

Normally, it takes a modern gunship a little over five hours to fly from Japan to Kabul, give or take a few minutes, and accounting for a fuel stop in China.

Morrison makes the trip in a hair over two, breaking air-traffic laws in four countries, two different UN sanctions, and running the gunship down to the last cores of the fuel cells.

It’s not fast enough.

Ana’s cool head is what keeps Jesse breathing. She gets him on oxygen, talking Tracer through finding a vein to start a transfusion, and reminding Genji how to properly seal a sucking chest wound. There’s a broken rib and collapsed lung, and deep inside something is hemorrhaging blood into his chest and airway. Ana comments that at least they missed his heart or he would've bled out on the floor in seconds instead of minutes.

Hanzo stays as far back as he can  while the others work to save Jesse’s life. Watching as they bring him back from the brink, his barrel chest heaving while Ana holds an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Watching as the transfusion brings color slowly back to his pale skin with each minute that ticks by. Jesse rallies enough to become briefly combative, though not quite conscious. His hands seek to pull out the needle in his arm as incoherent groan emanates deep from his chest. Genji holds his him down until  Ana can dig out a sedative.

The warm pulse of the biotic emitters fills the cramped hold. Ana tells everyone to make sure one is running at all times. Without the nanobots they have no way to stop the internal bleeding until they get to an Overwatch affiliated hospital and surgery. Hanzo counts small canisters; there’s eight in the pack, good for roughly fifteen minutes apiece. Standard for a field kit, meant to help patch superficial cuts or burns, not stop the inevitable.

The injury looks so small. Less than an inch and a half long and about two inches right of his left nipple, exiting on his back close to the ridge of his spine. He can see the imprint from Chiyome’s foot turning a nasty shade of purple under the plastic taped to Jesse’s chest. Every time he exhales the corner of the dressing flutters.

Between the biotics and the care they can provide, Jesse stabilizes as they speed through Chineese airspace. Genji, Ana and Tracer take turns comforting him. Holding his hand, or in Ana’s case stroking damp hair back from his sweating forehead, motherly concern painting her face. Hanzo sits, trying to makes himself small in the corner by the bay door, where the roar of the engines nearly drown out all sound. It’s better than hearing them talk, and better than hearing Jesse try to breathe. He sits and digs his fingers in the slice on his thigh. Pressing hard, reopening the edges of the cut, counting the shards collecting in his chest and wishes he could drag each and every one of them across his own skin.

His father. Cruel and perfect. His idol and his nightmare.  The man doled out kindness like a weapon, and Hanzo had spent years trying to live up to his standards. He wanted to be the perfect son, the perfect heir. And yet, when his father passed, he’d only felt relief.

His mother, distant but loving in her own small way. The only person who encouraged him to bond with his brother.  His memories of her are long softened by time, like old paper frayed around the edges. He should have been there when they took her life.

 _Genji._ His fingers curl deep, fingernails scraping muscle. He grunts involuntarily. It had been his burden and he told himself it was his _honor_.  He’d seen no other choice at the time. It was demanded by the family, Genji would either come to heel or he would die. They were being hard pressed from all sides, warring with another faction and Overwatch breathing down their neck. There was no time for the second son’s foolishness. He remembers how he was determined to not let his brother sway him, to not let Genji fail again. How he would be held accountable. He sees Genji’s face when he realized that Hanzo was not going to let him walk away, the absolute horror when he called his dragons down and swung. Genji had called for his own, voice cracking, as the summon faltered he cried in sheer terror. Hanzo remembers telling him that if he had tried harder he would be able to defend himself, anger hot on his breath. Part of him had hoped that Genji would be able to fight back and prove everyone wrong. When his brother had failed to even do that properly, it was disgust that drove him to swing.

When Genji had finally stopped moving, Hanzo’s dragons had fled, taking his anger with them. He’d told Genji to rise, to stop fooling around for once in his life, and when Genji’s shredded body offered no answer, he’d dropped his weapon, seeking any exit. He didn’t stop- not when he saw the dark uniforms of men dropping into the compound, not at the calls to halt, nor the sharp clatter of weapon fire. He digs, blood dribbling from the wound and pooling around his thigh.

 _Jesse._ He’s lying less than a yard away, unconscious and clinging to life. Hanzo couldn’t save him, couldn’t think of a way to get them both out. Because he wasn’t good enough. Jesse, who talked too much and laughed too loud, stomping his way to his heart without even trying. Behind the ridiculous dress and long drawl, was the most sincere person he’d ever met. Jesse, who trusted in him unflinchingly once he’d earned it. Who loved him, not just in words but by his actions. Who encouraged him to become a better man, and yet never pushed beyond his limits. The best thing in his life that he didn’t deserve.

Hanzo can’t even bring himself to move from his corner and take the hand that dangles limply from the cot. Genji looks over at him once, twice, questioning and concerned, as they speed over China, but doesn’t approach. Hanzo is relieved, in a way, he doesn’t want his brother’s pity right now.

Morrison ends up calling Genji into the cockpit, as they near the country. 76’s voice crackles over the ship’s com: 30 minutes out, Mercy has a team on standby. Buckle up, everyone.

Tracer nods, pops the second to last biotic cannister, swaps places with Ana to sit in the jumpseat by Jesse’s head. Ana herself eyes the heart monitor. Heartbeat tachycardic, respiration fast, blood pressure low but stable, o2 saturation holding at right around 90% as it’s been for the last hour. Nothing else they can do. She briefly touches Jesse’s bare shoulder, moving carefully as they hit mild turbulence. Her weary eye meets Hanzo’s face, she glances down and notes the slashes in his clothes and the red drops by his feet.

“You are hurt.” She mouths. He shakes his head, looks down. Moments later he feels hands on his own, rough and calloused and warm. Ana’s not looking at him, pulling his hand free from his grip on his thigh, murmuring like she would to a startled animal. He starts to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Bracing herself on the other side of his seat she tears open a wrapped medical wipe. “May I?”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he nods. She examines the slash through the tear in his pants, wiping away coagulated blood with gentle swipes. He’s sure she sees the imprints from his fingers, sure she realizes it should have started to scab long ago, though she says nothing and just focuses on her task.

“You will need stitches.” She finishes cleaning as best she can, opening another package of gauze. “Hold pressure on that till it seals for now.”

He nods again, and she gestures for him to remove the suit coat and roll up his sleeve so she can check his arm.

“It’s not your fault.” Her voice is kindly, close to his ear.

He doesn’t respond, feels the muscle in his jaw twitch. Shakes his head no, swallowing down the bile that rises again in his throat.

Her hand pauses, she sighs. “I’ve learned the hard way that any day could be the last. Each time Fareeha leaves I am torn... but it is her choice, as it was mine, and Jesse’s, and yours. He knew what could happen.”

She digs out one more bandage, wrapping around his arm with medical tape. “Jesse’s always had a soft heart, but he never gave it to anyone who did not deserve it.”

Something inside starts to give, he can feel his breath hitch. Ana starts to stand, pausing with hand on knee. He tries to dig at his thigh again, finds her hands instead, and he’s squeezing like it’s a lifeline. He doesn’t deserve to shed tears for what he’d done.

She squeezes back. “You will regret many things in your life. Do not let the love of another be one.”

Hanzo _breaks._

He doesn’t sob, just crumples, his hands coming up to press against his face. Shoulders shake and he bites his lip, running through every exercise he ever learned to keep from completely losing it. Even so, tears find their way to the surface, hot against his check. He rubs heels of his palms against his eyes, in the vain hope that if he presses hard enough he can stop.

She sits with him, crouching, rubbing small circles on his back. Lets him compose himself, until his breathing is back under control and he’s not longer shuddering. Pats his back one more time.

“You should sit with him.”

He can’t stop himself from searching her features, or the wave of relie that sweeps through as she nods again. She understands. His legs shakes as he stands, but his steps are quick as he takes the jump seat by Jesse’s head.

Hesitant at first, placing his palms on each side of Jesse’s jaw, fingertips barely brushing his skin around the edges of the oxygen mask. There’s dried blood in his beard, staining his lips, breaking into little flakes. Hanzo watches his breaths, sees how the plastic fogs then recedes, fogs then recedes, notes how the pattern becomes easier as Ana switches the fading emitter for their last remaining one.

Jesse’s  face is drawn and pale, unnaturally still. Ugly and wrong, for one who is normally as vibrant as his cowboy. He tries to picture his eyes opening, the little crinkle at the corner and the quirk of his lips that is almost always present. It's no use, instead he can’t stop replaying the fearful expression he'd seen at his touch. Jesse had tried to conceal his panic with a smile, though it had been more of a baring of teeth. _Te amo._ The words are a lump in his throat. He had wanted to make sure Jesse knew. There wasn’t time to say anything else.

The shards dig at him again. His thumbs brush over the other man’s skin, along his cheek and the start of his beard.

He feels a metal hand on his back. Genji is leaning from his seat in the cockpit, gripping Hanzo’s shoulder. His voice is subdued. “He will be ok. Just a bit longer.”

Jesse crashes again when they’re three minutes out from landing, after the last canister suddenly flickers and dies. Hanzo sees it first, how the oxygen mask is suddenly misting with fine droplets of red and tiny flecks of gold as the nanobots fail. Ana is there, pushing him aside, pulling the casing off her biotic rounds-

Genji pulls him into the cockpit and holds him, and he doesn't realize the hoarse keening is coming from his own throat.

* * *

 

Awareness comes back as bits and pieces. Pressure, bits of light. The first thing he recognizes is the smell of tea. The world is blurry and confusing, he tries to move his arms and still feels like he can't breathe. There's a sting, and he fades.

The second thing he can clearly make sense of it parts of a conversation, and even then it’s stilted and far away. It's too bright, there’s pain he can’t get away from. “-you need to shower. ...days, you can't just sit here…..watch him.”

He slips back under, but this time it's different. He realizes that it’s his chest that hurts and  the square of  light is a window. Voices tease the edge of his consciousness, like coming out of a dream. He registers someone telling his they're here to check his vitals, and then...Jesse wakes up.

Mercy is hovering over him, stethoscope in hand and listening to his lungs. Genji is in the corner of the room, tapping away at his data pad.

“Where’s Hanzo?”  his voice comes out as a dry croak.

Mercy shushes him, automatically. “He'll be right here, just go back to sleep.”

He  attempts to sit up instead, biting back a groan. His chest really hurts. There's a tube sticking through his ribs, IV in his arm, another plastic tube supplying oxygen under his nose Somewhere near the foot of the bed there’s a warming pulse of a biotic emitter.

“Mercy.” She stands back, recognizes he’s coherent  enough that she grabs a pen light and flicks it on. The sudden brightness makes him squeeze his eyes shut with a grunt.

“Jesse,” She waits for him to look, “Can you track this for me?” The light waves slowly back and forth, his eyes follow for a brief moment, then agitation sets in and he shakes his head.

“Dammit Mercy, I can see it jus’ fine- where’s Hanzo?”

“Is he really awake this time?” Genji’s head tilts. “McCree, do you recognize me?”

“Hrmph.” Is his articulate reply.  He settles on grumpy as the appropriate mood. “Yea. Green cyborg ninja dude. Why wouldn’t I?” He’s thirsty, licks his lips. “Where’s Hanzo? And can I git a glass of water or somethin’?”

“The last three times you ‘woke up’..” Genji puts air quotes around the words. “...you proceed to ask for Hanzo even though he was right next to you, and tried to pull out the IV. You also cried. It was weird.”

It clicks that this is a hospital. He squints, seeing white tiled ceiling above. Slatted blinds over the right window are casting long shadows over the foot of his bed, he wishes they were fully closed. “Well ‘scuse me fer not recallin.’” Words are thick in his mouth, his accent more of a slurry than a drawl.

A wide smile light's up Angela's face. She stows the pen back in her pocket and grabs a pitcher of water at his bedside, pouring into a small plastic cup. “It is a side effect of the painkillers. Rarely do people wake up fully coherent the first time. I’ll sit you up, just a moment.”

Genji pitches in helpfully. “You were as high as a kite.”

“Think I still might be.” His mind feels foggy, for sure. Strangely detached, like he's floating.

There’s a remote on the arm of the bed. Angela  presses it and the bed whirs as it raises him to a sitting position. McCree stifles another grunt, sitting up feels worse than lying back, but he’s thirsty enough he doesn’t right care.

She continues, “Hanzo’s in the shower, hopefully. He only left several minutes ago, he sat with you since you came out of surgery. How are you feeling?” Ever the doctor. “You had us all very worried for awhile.”

She offers the glass, he goes to grab it with both hands before realizing his prosthesis is detached.Takes with just his right instead. His hand is shaky, Angela notes this and helps him lift the cup to his lips.

“Thanks.” Water dribbles out of the corner of his mouth, he wipes at it in embarrassment. Swallowing hurts too, in a scratchy kind of way.  “Feel like I got kicked in the chest by a horse. Didn't know being run through hurt so damn much.”

“Most if that is from the fact I had to..” Mercy gestures to the bandages swathing his torso. “...open your ribs to suture the left inferior pulmonary vein. You will feel that for a long time.”

“Well shit.” He tries to whistle, ends up sputtering instead. Frowns.  “Thanks, I guess.” He gestures to the tube. “S’what's this for?”

“Chest tube, as you experienced a pneumothorax that devolved into a hemothorax.” His eyebrows draw together, she explains. “Initially, your left lung collapsed. Due to the nature of your injury, you bled into your chest cavity. That caused the collapse of both lungs. And it's a risk after any thoracotomy is performed.”  

He nods slowly, more or less following. A more pressing concern comes to mind. “How long have I been out?’

“Three months.” Genji sounds somber.

He’d gasp if it didn't hurt. “E-what? Really?”

“Genji!” Mercy scolds. “No, no.  About ..hrm..36 hours? It's just about 1630 here. Here being Kabul. ”

“Fuck me sideways. Damn.” He shifts, slowly realizing he's not going to be able to get comfortable. “Wait-Genji, how’d you get in?” Pieces of the mission are coming back to him, he tries to recall what happened. “Amari?”

Genji nods and scoots his chair closer. “Mhm, she was hanging off the back of the gunship. Morrison dropped from the holding pattern as soon as your comms bugged. She saw the snipers from the air, held fire till Winston was able to get through. Two confirmed kills. Third ran. When you answered they were close enough to scoop us up and we ingressed under 60 seconds. Good thing too, Hanzo was about to get himself eviscerated from our dear old Uncle Youta.”

“So that was yer uncle? Girl’s was yer cousin?”

“Hai. Chiyome. She ran, Youta’s dead.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He offers. Unsure.

Genji shakes his head. “Don't be. Nobody stabs one of my friends and gets away with it. We will catch her.”

“Hanz-” Jesse starts to correct, then checks himself, covering the slip as a cough. Immediately he regrets it as the pressure makes his lungs _burn_ and he starts to wheeze in earnest. “ _Goddangitow.”_

Mercy pats his back, soothingly. “Try not to cough. Everything  will still be quite tender, I do not wish to have to resuture you. I have you on a morphine drip and biotics right now to help.”

“Got it.” He chokes out, eyes watering. “Gonna tell me I can't smoke neither, right?”

“I will personally put your right back how we found you if you do. It made my job a bit harder than it had to be.” The warning is stern but her tone is fond. “It was far too close of a shave.”

Finally he can inhale again. “Hey, my head’s still here an’ firmly attached.”

Genji shrugs. “Lucky that my family has a cruel streak and Chiyome’s _training_ -” the word is stretched out and bitter “-wasn't as good as mine and my brother’s. She should of had you executed, instead of trying to be old school.  I'm glad she's a shitty assassin.”

Jesse nods, not sure what else to say. Hanzo hasn’t told them, and it’s not his place too.

Limping footsteps in the hallway draw his attention, he turns as much as he can, his heart thudding in his chest. He knows it's Hanzo before he sees him.

“Hey Aniki, guess your boyfriend finally decided it was time to wake up!” Genji greets his brother cheerfully.

Hanzo stops dead in the doorway, wet towel still hanging on his neck, damp hair loose. He looks as exhausted as Jesse feels. There's a bruise on his cheek, he’s standing slightly off center to keep weight off his leg, his arm is held stiff. Jesse can see the pad of a bandage around his bicep, peeking from a t-shirt that looks like it came from the hospital's gift shop to match the sweatpants.  Dark circles are apparent under his eyes, his face is tight and drawn.

He's _beautiful,_ and Jesse grins genuine. 

“Hey, sugar.”  He gives a half-hearted wave with his stump. 

Hanzo stares, eyes wide, glistening.

Jesse’s own eyes water in response, relief almost overwhelming him. “ _Sweetheart_ -no, no don't cry on me now, we're all good-”

Hanzo takes a step _back._

“I am- I am so _sorry_ \- It's good to see….” Hanzo’s voice is rough, another step back, and he’s gone down the hallway, almost running.

Automatically starting to swing his legs over to follow, he forgets again that he’s sans arm and ends up hunching awkwardly as there is nothing to take his weight. That makes his chest hurt enough that he's seeing stars. Angela pushes him back into bed, tutting at him. He's too weak to stop it. 

“What the fuck was that about?” Genji is on his feet too, arms crossed and head cocked. “He's been waiting for you to wake up since we got here. I thought he was going to, I don't know, smother you with love or something.”

“Can you ..” he’s gasping like a goddamned asthmatic. Angela is again holding shoulder like she thinks he’s planning to hop out of bed and run after Hanzo. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but he can barely sit up right now. “Can you tell him ta come back. Fer me. Tell him he did the best he could and we’re gonna be fine.”

“Ohhhkay?” Genji tilts his head to the other side, fingers drumming on his leg. Considering. “He has been avoiding talking to me too. More than usual. I thought he was just worried about you. I don’t know if he’ll listen to me. He gets like this.” The cyborg’s hands wave out in front of him, palms flat in a vague shooing motion. “I was trying to give him space, he took this whole thing really hard.”

“Christ almighty, Genji. Angie, stop.” He waves her hands away. “I ain't going anywhere. Promise.” He settles back against the pillows, trying not to inhale deeply. Trying not to breathe shallow, that hurts almost as much. _Dammit._ He focuses on the younger Shimada instead of figuring out how to breathe. “I think he's holding himself responsible fer what happened. To me.”

“Why would he-”

“Genji. Please. As a favor to your dumb American friend.”

The cyborg shrugs and then sighs, the sound overlaid with a mechanical buzz. “Alright, I’ll see what’s up. No promises though.” He stops as he reaches the door. “I’m glad you’re going to be ok. You really did scare us.”

Jesse waves his arm dismissively. “S’alright. They way yer all talkin’ makes it sound like I died.”Hanzo’s reaction worries him, more than any of his physical discomfort.  

Angela hums. “ _Technically_...We lost you on the plane, for about -”

“I don't wanna know.”

“Right, right, sorry.” She picks up his chart again. “I will take out the chest tube in a day or two if you continue to improve. Lung injuries do heal quickly, as long as they are treated. Let me know if you need anything else for pain.”

He grumbles in acknowledgment. “By chance do you know where my handset is? Or my damn hat?” He could always call Hanzo if he can't get out of bed.

“Back in Japan, probably.” Genji laughs as he leaves. Jesse thinks it sounds just a bit strained.

Mercy nods quietly. “Jack and Lena met up with Mei, they headed back as soon as we knew you were going to pull through to deal with the fallout. They’ll cover your tracks and grab whatever was left behind, but after that as far as I know the mission is officially canceled.”

“Figures.” He wishes he could leave. 

She stays with him a bit longer, promising one of her nurses will be along shortly to help him eat and get cleaned up if he felt up for it. He tries to listen as she talks, explaining how the hospital itself had a long-standing contract with the previous incarnation of Overwatch, so when they recalled they decided to renew.  Mercy did a research stint here when she was younger as well, she’s on familiar terms with several of the head physicians, though she’s in charge of all Overwatch agent’s care.

McCree finds himself drifting, the painkillers in his system making it hard to stay awake let alone focus on what Angela is saying. He fights it for a bit, intending to wait for Hanzo to reappear. He thinks of holding the archer close, getting a kiss he wants so desperately. How he can reassure him that he doesn’t blame him.

  
He dozes off, hoping that Hanzo will be there when he wakes.


	4. Wildflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp here you go. Y'all deserve this after sticking it out with me!
> 
> Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii don't know how to end things so hopefully this is ok. Mega huge thanks to Goodluckdetective for the beta reading, and also a shoutout to sodawife for being a tumblr cheerleader for this thing. I hope you guys like it, and sorry for the wait!!!!!!

The feel of fingers on his flesh starts him out of a vague nightmare where he’s drowning under a sea of luminescent blue. His hand balls into a fist and he’s halfway sitting up before he regains his senses, seeing only one of the nurses leaning back looking startled herself. Jesse sinks back into his pillows with a muffled groan, adrenaline wearing off as quickly as it came on. The dull ache that was present as he slept turns into a searing band across his ribs with it’s absence, the price he pays for moving too quickly while still healing.  

“I’m sorry,” She tucks her headscarf back into place, indicating the chart she’d dropped on the floor. “I did not mean to startle you. Dr. Ziegler said you were probably ready try and get freshened up and have some dinner. We can also re-attach your prosthesis now that you are coherent, if you would like?”

He hisses between his teeth, holding up his hand in the universal sigh for _I need a minute._ Angela had not been exaggerating when she said lung injuries could be devastating, he can’t ever recall feeling so damn weak. A further disappointment, no one else is in the room with them. If Hanzo had been here... he lets the thought trail off. They were both jumpy sleepers, part of their history, but they had long since figured out the best wake to wake one another with getting punched or stabbed. Usually.

McCree shakes his head to clear it, shoving all the feelings aside to focus on the here and now. The clock reads 1843, which meant he got roughly two hours of sleep. He is feeling pretty damn hungry, and he realizes he probably hasn’t had a solid meal since the night of the mission.  Plastering a smile on his face he tries to look charming rather than feral, he turns his attention back to the nurse.

“Be real nice to get my arm back, and some food.  Like to wash up too, if I can.”

“Of course, Mr. Mcree.”

It’s a testament to how out of sorts he feels that he doesn't care to start a conversation with her.

She helps reattach his arm with an air of familiarity, though he’s thankful for the painkillers he has onboard when the nerves are reconnected. Disconnecting the leads for the telemetry machine,  detaching the iv and clamping the tube sticking out from his chest takes her a few more minutes, but she gets him situated and on his feet. He’s no stranger to waking up in a hospital, but he feels like he’s connected to so much shit this time it’s ridiculous.

The little tube under his nose stays, irritating as it is. The nurse pulls a portable o2 tank out from near the wall. He wants to tell her to leave it, but the longer he’s on his feet the dizzier he’s feeling, so he relents. Trying to stand straight triggers a spasm by his ribs, so he hunches, clutching the rail along the wall as he walks, hating it every step of the way.

They reach the little bathroom, for a moment he fears that the nurse is going to go in and insist on helping him piss, but she merely holds the door for him and tells him to knock when he’s all set, and to not sit up too fast.

He sinks on the toilet with a haggard sigh that ends up twinging his ribs again. Maybe it’s a good thing Hanzo isn’t here, he’d either be babying him or laughing at how he can’t fucking inhale without hurting himself.  That’s not right. Hanzo should be here. If he wasn’t too busy guilt-tripping himself. He hopes he’s not. He knows he is.

He stays moping for  long enough that the nurse gets concerned enough to ask if he’s ok. He gives a noncommittal grunt as an answer, that seems to satisfy. It’s a fight to stand again. He runs water in the faucet till it’s warm, wets a washcloth, scrubs at his face, chest, behind his ears. Forcing himself to look up, he takes stock of himself in the mirror over the porcelain sink.

He looks worn, like a mangy old dog someone left out in the rain.

Faint almost healed bruising underneath his eye confuses him for a moment before he remembers that Hanzo had actually punched him in the face at one point. Funny, seems like that happened weeks ago as opposed to days. A day? No. Mercy said 36 hours. Two days.

The chest tube is fascinating, in a morbid sort of way. It’s kinda just poking out from beneath his left pectoral, overlain with a thick padded bandage to keep it in place. The nurse had detached it from the wall, clamped it so he could move around, so it’s just hanging there. He can see it draining a mix of clear fluid and what he really hopes isn’t blood as he exhales. It’s weird that it doesn’t hurt, but then again he’s on enough painkillers to probably overdose a horse.

It’s giving him the heebie-jeebies to look at it, so he focuses on his new scars instead. Earning scars is familiar, in the same way the iv in his arm or waking up in a hospital bed is. It happens to people like him. You just hoped you got a good story about it.

There’s a pink newly healed over line cutting across his chest from sternum to side before veering sharply upward to almost his armpit. He brushes his fingers across it, and can feel the ridge of dissolvable sutures just underneath the skin. Exploring, he pushes harder when his ribs seem to hurt the most, right by his sternum, biting back a hiss of pain when his ribs shift under his fingers. He can feel metal or wire in the bone looping sternum to rib. Mercy did say she had to crack his chest open, figures that they have to put him back together somehow. Biotics could do wonder for tears in skin and even certain muscles, but bones and complex tissue structures required more traditional forms of healing. Mostly, time. He wonders if can count these towards his broken rib tally. Would put him at eight.

His hand roves his chest again, and he finds the mark from the sword just above the line of the incision.  Suppresses a flinch as the memory of the sword piercing his chest flares to the forefront of his thoughts. He grits his teeth and tries not to picture Hanzo walking away. It felt like drowning as he’d lain on the floor. He’d _hated_ it when Blackwatch had run waterboard training. Suffocating on his own blood was worse. He shakes his head again, the gesture futile.

He’d struggled back to the surface, once, twice, a third time.  Hanzo had been there at the last, crouched by his head, voice a whisper in his ear. Nothing after that. He seizes on that memory. _Hanzo had come back_. He hadn't left him to bleed out and suffocate on the floor alone. His eyes squeeze shut, his chest is starting to burn again.

The crack of the porcelain sink underneath the metal of his fingers jolts him from his thoughts.

It was the only way for them both to survive that ambush. It was a move of pure desperation. Most importantly, _it worked_ , and he was here, complaining about an achy chest rather than dead with his brains all over the floor in front of him. Hanzo has to understand that. He saved his life.

* * *

 

He’s halfway through picking dejectedly at his mostly mush dinner when he hears a knock at the side of the door. Ana is standing there, a small vase holding a single daisy of some sort in her hands. He waves her in, shoots the vase a questioning look.

“I’d thought it brighten the room a little. How are you feeling?” She sets it on the wide window sill, before dragging a chair to sit by his bed.

“Jus’ dandy, m’am.”

“Well, you look like crap.” Straight and to the point, as always.

“Feel like crap.” He admits. “Like when I got pneumonia during that wildness survival boot camp with Reyes, except about a hundred times worse.”

“I remember that. You and half the team, and Reyes didn’t pick up on it untill, who was that? Elbourne? Fainted face down in the mud.”

“Yep. He called us all a bunch of ‘candy ass weak willed spineless s.o.b’s’ If I recall correctly.” He goes to chuckle, catches himself.  “Hell, half of us couldn’t make the slog up the hill back to camp, and Reyes was just sitting up there, spitting mad, cursing us out. When Angie found out she was livid. He thought we were all trying to get out of doing PT in shitty weather, but he felt real bad when she told him it was pneumonia. He even apologized to Elbourne personally.”

“That must have been something.”

“It was, though we still had to finish out the camp once med cleared us. Elbourne ended up flunking out, too.”

“Shame he wanted to go into spec-ops, he was a pretty talented pilot. Should have stayed with the Force.” Ana shifts, settling back into the chair. “Nevermind that now, ancient history at this point. How are you doing here?” She taps her skull.

_It’s annoying how he has to catch his breath every few words. He hates feeling like an invalid. It bugs him his hat is gone. He misses Hanzo. He’s worried he’s going to have a new set of nightmares where his lover eviscerates him. He’s terrified that Hanzo is going to never come back and talk to him because he’s holding onto guilt like a noose around his own neck._

“I’m fine. I’m on the right side of the ground at least.” He gives her a tired smile and tries to steer the conversation to safer waters. He jabs at the watery pile of what he’s sixty-five percent sure is mashed potatoes. Or soggy cauliflower. “This shit’s like baby food and tastes like crap, to be honest. I swear all hospitals must have the same supplier.”

She leans over to look, wrinkling her nose. “Is that supposed to be rice?”

“Beats me.” He gives up, shoves the rolling tray table away from him. “Do you know when we're expecting the others back? Or the timeline to roll back to hq? I imagine y’all were waiting on me.”

“They should be back late tonight or very early tomorrow morning. They have the stuff you left in the hotel, including your hat. As for afterward, Mercy has to clear you for travel, but she’s optimistic it will only be a few days.” She reaches out, patting his metal hand soothingly. “So I suggest you rest, and maybe relax with your Mr. Shimada.”

He tries to not look like an embarrassed school child, fails. Their relationship hadn’t exactly been a secret before, but they hadn’t really shared the fact that they were something more than just fuck buddies with the rest of the team either. With a start realizes he has no idea what Hanzo has told everyone while he was unconscious. Angela knew, Genji of course, and Fareeha. Did that mean she told Ana?  Or was she guessing?

Like she can read his thoughts, she continues. “No one has told me anything, but I spoke to him while we were flying here. And he spent every possible hour glued to your side till now. I know enough to see he cares very deeply for you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” She nods at his words, as if confirming something, but leaves it at that.

They sit in companionable silence, her hand light on his metal wrist, and he finds himself slipping into a light doze once more as the iv in his arm gives another dose of painkillers. The noise of her chair as she stands makes him force his eyes back open, but she waves dismissively.

“I’ll stop by again with some real food. I am glad you are on the mend. It would be like losing my own son if...” She trails off, then turns and smiles fondly at him. “Get some rest.”

* * *

 

 

Two hours of searching, high and low, and Genji finds his brother tucked next to a generator in the bowels of the hospital, head buried into his elbows and knees drawn to his chest as if he’s trying to make himself small.  It’s something he has not seen his brother do in years, not since the day his father caught Hanzo playing hide and seek with his then five year old brother instead of attending his Kendo lesson. The yelling carried clear across the compound.  Afterwards Genji remembers finding him tucked away in the family’s gardens, curled in a pose much like this.

This time, there are no tears, but he knows it’s far more serious.

He’s sure Hanzo’s heard his approach, but he gets no acknowledgment nor reaction, so he sits half lotus facing him, close enough to rest his hands on his brother’s arms.

Still nothing, so he starts to tap his fingers just enough to be irritating.

“Go away, Genji.” His brother’s voice is muffled.

“No. I was told by McCree to make sure you are okay. He was concerned. _I_ am concerned.”

Hanzo lifts his head, fixes him with a gaze that he’s sure is meant to be threatening. The effect is ruined by his brother’s red-rimmed eyes. Perhaps he had been crying, after all.

Hanzo frowns.“I will manage. Tell Jes-tell McCree that I will be fine.”

He caught the stumble, and he catches how his brother tenses as he talks. He hadn’t hesitated about using his the cowboy’s given name before. He is hiding something, and avoiding McCree.

“Aniki. What is upsetting you? I understand how you feel about McCree, but why are you hiding down hear? Not even you are this dramatic.”

“I am not _dramatic_.” Hanzo gives an annoyed huff, protesting. “I simply want to be alone. To meditate. There is a lot to process.”

“You are in the basement of the hospital, sitting in two inches of dust next to a noisy generator. In the dark.  Hardly a prime spot for meditation.”

Hanzo doesn’t reply, rather instead focusing intently on the wall. Genji continues. “You are hiding. Why?”

McCree had said he thinks that Hanzo is blaming himself for what happen. Genji had dismissed that,  his brother had always been hard on himself, but would never hold himself at fault for things out of his control. On second consideration, he thinks McCree is right. His brother is taking this far harder than he should be.

He leans back, giving Hanzo a bit of space. “I do not understand. What are you feeling so guilty about? McCree was upset when you left like that.”

There is no answer, only a stiffening of his posture.

“Aniki, if you can’t talk to him, talk to me.” He reaches out, resting his hand over Hanzo’s arm again, trying to be soothing like Zenyatta.

Hanzo seems to struggle. He squeezes his eyes closed, a muscle in his jaw twitches, he starts to shift several times before catching himself. Genji waits, trying to radiate patience. His brother has to chose to open up to him.

Finally, in a voice so quiet he almost misses it. “I killed him.”

He shakes his head, not comprehending. “Hanzo, no. It’s not your fault that you got ambushed.”

“No.” Hanzo takes a deep breath, finally meeting his gaze. “I _killed_ him.”

“You…”  He trails off as the realization hits.

“She was going to have him executed. I took the sword they brought, and I put it through his chest. I avoided the heart yes, but still….Genji. _He died_ . I did this. I.. “  Hanzo’s voice breaks. “It was _my_ sword. The one I left in Hanamura. The one I...I killed you both.”

“I am unforgivable.” He fixes his stare on the ground below. “I killed him. I watched him die and I walked away.”

He could be talking about either of them at this point, but Genji doesn’t think it matters.

Hanzo is still confessing, Japanese clipped and tone bordering on frantic. “How can he ever look at me without seeing what I did? I did not know if I was leaving him to die. I was sure I did not hit his heart, but you had the same training I did, you know you can’t just stab someone in the chest and _not hurt_ them.  I was afraid that if I tried to put the sword to far off she’d have him executed anyway. She almost did. She told me I was _out of practice.”_ He stops to bark a harsh laugh at that.  “And he _died_ . I saw him stop breathing. I saw his heart stop. He says he _loves_ me, and I killed him. How can I go back? How, Genji? How did _you_ forgive me? I- I neither one of you should, I don’t deserve this, I can’t-I can’t...”

He doesn’t know what to say, so instead he kneels close and wraps his arms tight around Hanzo’s shoulders. Hanzo tenses, and for a moment he think he’s going to stand and run. Genji rubs his back like they were kids again, and that’s all it takes before his brother buries his head against his shoulder, shaking.

“ _I am so sorry,_ _Genji._ ”  The apology is whispered to his chest.

“I forgave you a long time ago, Aniki.” Hanzo had always tried to shoulder his burdens alone. “I know Jesse understands that you did what was necessary. He already said as much.”

“I know he will forgive me. But I do not know if I -”

“Hanzo. That was my decision. And it is Jesse’s. You cannot make our choices for us. And for what it’s worth, I apologize as well, for convincing you to take on this mission. You were right.”

Hanzo is quiet, then pulls back to lean against the wall. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

The moon hangs in the sky, low and bright, by the time he returns to Jesse’s room. Slats of  moonlight cut across the bed, long shadows crawling over blankets. Hanzo approaches, steps light, pausing at the railing.

Jesse is nestled partly on his left side, as far as he can turn without laying on the chest tube that exits just under the muscle of his pectoral. His flesh hand is curled softly around the wad of bandages and tape that hold it in place. The nasal cannula tucked behind his ears emits a light hiss, the sound all but unnoticeable under Jesse’s open mouth almost snore, though Hanzo thinks his breathing is still too shallow. His gaze follows the cardiac monitor leads stuck to Jesse’s chest, the machine is silent as it tracks Jesse’s steady heartbeat.

The prosthesis  has been reattached as well, and Jesse has it tucked under the hospital pillow cradling his head.  New, pink scar tissue marks the healing incision along with the welt like scar from his sword, matching one on Jesse’s back.

Reaching out, he pauses millimeters from Jesse’s skin. He can feel the warmth even without touching him. Blinking hard at the uncomfortable prickle behind his eyes, he can’t stop the shuddering inhale. Jesse was so cold on the transport. Pale. Lifeless.

_And it was his fault._

He pulls back, shards digging inward.

Will Jesse flinch next time he touches him? He knows what will be said, that he is forgiven. That all is well. Will there be nightmares to add to the ones already plaguing them both?

The thought of waking the other man and having him shrink back in fear from his touch is too much. Hanzo tells himself he will return in the morning.

He makes it halfway to the door.

“Hey.” Jesse’s voice is a low croak, sleep weary and raspy.

He freezes.

“Hanzo,” It’s a plea.

He can't face him.

Jesse pauses, waiting. Neither one dare to breathe.

Jesse gives first. “Te amo.” His voice is husky, the words weighted like a promise and fervent as a prayer.

Hanzo turns, head down, dragging his eyes across the floor tiles.

“I..I know.” He won't look up. “I know.”

He dreads what is coming next.

“Darlin,’” a long sigh. “I can't pretend to know what yer thinking, but from the way your acting I know it ain't good. But here's my honest truth. What you did back there was goddamned brilliant.”

Hanzo blinks. That was not what he expected.

“M’serious.” Jesse continues, words rushed. “If it was me I woulda just started swinging the second they threatened to hurt you, and you, kept yer wits an’ took probably the only way to get us both outta there and I still trust you and-” he's rambling now, short inhales peppering his sentences- “I love you and m’sorry I scared you but _please just look_ at me, Hanzo.”

Hanzo is shaking now. There's an aggravated grunt, the sound of a rustling and a muttered “Goddamnit” and the alarmed beeping of the heart monitor as Jesse rips the leads from his chest.

“Are ya really gonna make me crawl over there cuz I fuckin will.” Feet slap cold tile floor, “fucking-” he's panting- “stubborn ass-” a grunt and the scrape of plastic “gorgeous love of my li-” the words turn into a choked wheeze and Hanzo can't stop himself from taking the last three steps to grab Jesse's arms as the man starts to fold over to catch his breath.

“I am so sorry.” The apology slips from his lips, and Jesse shakes his head at his words, shaggy hair over his face. “Jesse, I- I am so so sorry.”

Jesse's arms latch onto his own, leaning heavy on his shoulder. Hanzo tries to steer the other man back to the bed, but his feet remain planted stubbornly.

“I ain't letting you go.” The words are a  low growl as Jesse forces himself level, hands clutching either sides of Hanzo’s shoulders. “Hanzo. I'm gonna be fine. I ain't mad an’ as far as I'm concerned there ain't nothin’ forgive. I love you.”

Warm brown eyes doggedly meet his gaze, eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted as he breathes. Jesse’s _here_. Alive and breathing and-

Hanzo closes the space and kisses him before he can stop himself.  Rough lips meets his own, Jesse’s beard course against his face. A sharp exhale from Jesse’s nose, a small whine from the other man’s throat, and Hanzo’s not sure who’s holding up who anymore.  Jesse’s fingers dig into his flesh, he threads his own hands up Jesse’s sides to try and pull him closer, pausing as his fingers touch bandages. The kiss is returned with a hint of desperation, and Jesse’s height is ever the advantage as the other man leans into him,-

“Uh,” A knock at the door startles the both. Hanzo pulls back, eyes still locked onto Jesse’s face. The other man looks starstruck, eyes wide with a lopsided loose-lipped grin, his breath coming in a soft wheeze.  The nurse continues. “Visiting hours are _over_. He should not be out of bed!”

“Apologies.” Hanzo starts to try and excuse himself, flush rising in his cheeks.  

Jesse cuts him off, hands dropping from his shoulders.

“Heh…..sweetheart’…I'm feeling a lil’ lightheaded after that…I’m gonna sit…..” Jesse’s looking off to the left of Hanzo’s head, until his eyes roll backwards.

He just barely catches the cowboy as he faints.

The nurse mutters under her breath, running across the room to support Jesse’s other side. Between the two of them they get him back on the bed. To his immense relief Jesse’s already coming back around.

“Hoo boy..... I think I need to lay down.”

Hanzo steps back, the nurse waving him away as she checks vitals. “You are.”

“Oh.” His eyes flutter close. Hanzo for a moment fears he’s passed out again till he sees him scratch at the nasal cannula the nurse sits back under his nose. “This fucking sucks.”

The nurse tuts angrily. “You are on strict bed rest! And you!” the nurse rounds on Hanzo. “How in the world did you get past the nurses station?” She fixes him with a glare even as she’s working on replacing the telemetry leads, he steps further away.

Jesse chuckles softly. “Sweetheart, did you climb through a window for me?”

 _“He did what?”_ She stops, glare becoming an outright scowl.

Hanzo does his best to look innocent. “Nothing.”

“He’s _sneaky_. I like that in a man.”

“You are not helping, Jesse.”

“Sir,” The nurse continues, tone sharp. “This patient needs his rest.”

“I am leaving, I just would like to say goodnight, please.” He draws himself up to his full height, recalling the tone of voice his father used to use when addressing his subordinates. She meets his gaze, unaffected.

“Two minutes, and not a second longer. Or I call security.”

“Thank you.”

Apparently finally satisfied that everything is connected like it supposed to be, the nurse turns to leave. “Remember, Two minutes. He stays in bed. You stay out.”

He waits till she exits the room to sigh, dragging a palm over his face.

“She’s _definitely_ one of Angie’s. Did you see the death glare she was fixin’ you with?”

“Jesse.” He peers between his fingers, watching as Jesse lolls his head on the pillow at the sound of his name.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.” It’s a pleasure to say, the words pulling a warm sense of comfort from deep within. “I’m sorry about everything.”  

“I know. And to think this is the best relationship I’ve ever had.” He pats the bed next to him. “C'm here.”

Hanzo goes. Perches on the edge of the bed, takes Jesse’s hand in his own. Rubs his thumb across rough knuckles, enjoying the warmth and how Jesse touches back. Jesse tugs, and Hanzo leans forward to place a languid kiss on his lips. He can feel Jesse smiling underneath.

“I was scared.”

“Me too. Tell you what, I’m sure as hell glad to be on your good side.” Jesse reaches up, caress his face. “You’re real clever, you know that?”

He shakes his head. “You are too forgiving.”

“Nah, just honest. You’re an idiot too, beating yourself up like that. Had me scared you weren't going to come back.”

“Sorry.”

“S’ok. You can kiss it better.”

“Now you are just plying on my sympathies.”

“Can you blame me? I mean I always feared ending up in the hospital because my lover’s sword but I didn’t think it’d be quite so liter-”

If angry throat clearing was a sport, the nurse would be in first place. Hanzo finds himself fighting down a blush in his cheeks again, while Jesse does his level best not to laugh.

He stands, though still holding Jesse’s hand. “I will be back tomorrow morning.”

Jesse honest to goodness _pouts_. “Alright, if you insist.” Grinning, he continues. “Y’know, you really took my breath away.”

The wave of fondness that sweeps through him is a welcome change. “That is a horrible joke.”

* * *

 

He’s there at Jesse’s side at 8am sharp. He’s there when Angela pulls out the chest tube; Jesse  tells him that is the weirdest damn thing he’s ever felt in his life. He’s there as Jesse gets multiple visits from Ana, Tracer, Mei and Genji. Even 76 stops in to personally deliver his hat and Hanzo’s storm bow, though it’s been snapped in half and a warming carved into the side.  He’s there as Angela declares him fit to walk around off oxygen, and he’s there when she decides he’s good to fly back to home base a few days later, providing they check in with Lucio when they land.

They board the chartered plane, just the two two of them.  Angela is staying to deal with paperwork and something she’s researching, the rest of the team flew back to Gibraltar days earlier. Jesse quickly dozes off, hat clamped firmly over his face and head pillowed on Hanzo’s shoulder. Hanzo scrolls through his retrieved hand set, enjoying the weight of Jesse against him. There will be questions to answer once they land, mission briefings and data to analyze, comments about how they reacted and endless discussion over what went wrong.

He doesn’t dwell on it for now.

Jesse’s hand finds his wrist, pulling him from the touch screen. He lets the cowboy take it, smiles as he threads his fingers through his own.  He reaches over, tugs his hat to the side so he can see his face. Jesse grins sleepily at him.

“How ya feeling, sweetheart?”

“I'm fine. How do you feel?”

“Well I can laugh without wanting to die, so I must be getting better.” His expression grows serious. “You’re not still blaming yourself for what happened, are you?”

Hanzo sobers, before deciding hiding the truth will get him nowhere. “In a way, yes.”

Jesse sits up straighter, turns in his seat so their knees are touching. “You know you can’t always choose how your life’s gonna play out, just how you react to the hand you're dealt.  My gramma put it to me once. Asked me if I was gonna be fit for weeds or wildflowers to grow when I was done.”  He leans in, sincerity in his voice. “Didn’t know what she meant at the time, and hell I think I’m still only fit for weeds, to be honest.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m trying to say guilt’s gonna eat you alive. It’s one thing to reflect on what you did and why, and another entirely to wallow in the ‘what ifs.’ You need to focus on what you’re given now, because something’s gotta grow, and the only thing you can choose is what you let. Aw, hell, I don’t know.” He pulls his hat back over his eyes and sinks back into the seat, suddenly exasperated. “I’m still fucked up on painkillers, I know I’m not making sense.”

He takes his free hand and caresses Jesse’s jaw. Pulls his chin up for a languid kiss. “Te Amo.” He says, softly.

He loves the way Jesse looks back at him.

  
  
  
  



End file.
